


One Tenth

by thedrunkenwerewolf



Series: Heirverse: Phase 4 (Heir/Decimated) [10]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Amnesia, Emotional Hurt, Feelings, Heartache, Heartbreak, Hurt, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, and earn my "tears of my readers" mug, but first i wil make you cry, but painfully one sided, get your tissues i will break you, heavu angst, of a fanfiction, story cross references, tagged as the ship because of the series its set in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-26 17:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedrunkenwerewolf/pseuds/thedrunkenwerewolf
Summary: The version of Aizen Sousuke he once knew decimated, Gin struggles to cope without his other half beside him. Heirverse phase 4. Sequel to my piece 'Decimated' and Catsafari's piece 'Nine Tenths'. Recommend reading those two first for a better understanding of this piece.





	One Tenth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Catsafari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsafari/gifts).
  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [Một Phần Mười](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20093119) by [Decembre1722](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decembre1722/pseuds/Decembre1722)
  * Inspired by [Nine Tenths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19062376) by [Catsafari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsafari/pseuds/Catsafari), [thedrunkenwerewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedrunkenwerewolf/pseuds/thedrunkenwerewolf). 
  * Inspired by [Enemy You Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19753771) by [SesshomaruFreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SesshomaruFreak/pseuds/SesshomaruFreak), [thedrunkenwerewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedrunkenwerewolf/pseuds/thedrunkenwerewolf), [Timewaster123456789](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timewaster123456789/pseuds/Timewaster123456789). 

> Edit Aug 2019 - having read Timewaster's piece 'Enemy You know' i recommend reading that as well as this if just for the extra heartbreak. The quartz trees in EYK are the trees Gin was looking at in 1/10. (Aka I suffered so you have to suffer too) 
> 
> Business: I own Heirverse and nothing else.  
Wordcount: 3001  
A/n: I am legitimately only posting this for Catsafari to read, be crushed and review. [and crossposting on ao3 so I can link to her piece direct so she can get the exposure she deserves].  
If anyone else enjoys this and reviews, great. If not, I will have achieved mission objective regardless. This is first person, Gin's pov. Written in the style of 'I Love', as if he is addressing Sousuke directly. 
> 
> Notes for everyone/anyone who isn't Cat if anyone else is reading this: This is phase 4. Set after my piece 'Decimated' and Catsafari's piece she wrote in answer to that, 'Nine Tenths'. (so really the decimated arc). I recommend you read those two before this if you haven't already done so. There's a p3 piece tease in here because I can but that'll come later. Not sure when but it'll come. 
> 
> Dear Cat: So I read 9/10 and how dare you you know this means war, right? XD  
Seriously though, Thankyou for inspiring this, for crushing me with 9/10 [you monster], and if you wish to retaliate to this you have my permission and enthusiasm :) Enjoy my 1/10 to add to your 9/10. Also, Get your tissues, I will break you. Unapologetically. And without mercy. (In the pre-approved way, of course). -Sincerely, the asshole who wrote Decimated.  
PS - I'll write the scene I hinted at in the memory later to make up for the crushing.

"The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we'd done were less real and important than they had been."  
\- John Green [The Fault in Our Stars]

"_It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been had it never shone."  
__\- John Steinbeck [The winter of Our discontent]_

**One Tenth**

The light from the sun through the window hits my eyelids and tries to blind me. I scowl at it – it's far too early to get up and do things – and without thinking I roll over in the bed and reach for your warmth. For your body beside me, so I can wrap myself around you and bury myself in your gentle arms.

But of course, it's only cold empty sheets I touch. And it's only then that I remember you're not here. That the events of yesterday come crashing back to me.

Of course you're not here. Why would you be? I don't even exist to you now. I don't even register as a **dot **on your radar anymore.

Already I can feel my throat close up, tears springing to my eyes. Threatening to strangle and drown me respectively.

I try to breathe, though it's hard to do when it feels like I'm twenty thousand leagues under the sea, and my lungs are being crushed by the pressure. I have a thought that this might be how I live now; with this weight crushing me. But I chase it away. Another thought comes, with teeth this time, whispering that this might've been your plan all along. To truly, irrevocably break me, and I breathe in a lungful of the invisible water. Feeling it like cold ice inside me.

After all, the betrayal you see coming is trivial. What is truly frightening, truly lethal, is the betrayal you don't see. Isn't that right, Sousuke?

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the pain in my chest to loosen up enough so I can breathe normally again. It's funny, I could almost cope if t were all a big lie. You. Me. Us.

But this I find so much worse.

Because we actually _had_ something. Something substantial. Something _**real**_**. **Something we worked so hard and fought so viciously to keep alive.

And in the blink of an eye, it all disappeared. I blinked, and you slipped through my fingers. And the worst part is, I don't even know how. So I don't know what I can do to get you back. You're lost, and I can't find you.

_The Aizen Sousuke you knew never existed to begin with._

I can't help but wonder if that's true for me, too. Though the logical, rational part of me knows better.

Because I know, now, that I'd loved you, and you loved me long before we even admitted it to each other. Or even to ourselves. Hell, old man _Yamamoto _probably knew before we did. But I know in you I'd found my soulmate, and you'd found the same in me. The sun in the sky above us is a testament to that.

Which is why it stings so much now. Because now I have nothing. Just a hollowed out space where my heart used to be, and a much-too-bright reminder of what you are to me. And who I am – **was – **to you.

I want to believe that version of you still exists inside this stranger currently wearing your skin and speaking with your voice. It's got to be in there somewhere. Sleeping. Buried deep. But all I can do is hope. And pray you aren't too far away for me to reach as I crush the pain down into a small miserable place inside me, if only so I can get through this day.

I don't know if I'll have the strength for tomorrow, but I'll just focus on today. And just keep putting one foot in front of the other as best I can.

. . .

I don't know what time it is when I finally manage it, but I drag my sorry ass out of bed and make myself shower and dress in clean clothes. Giving myself basic commands. 'Wash your face now, Gin'. 'Brush your teeth'. 'now you have to get dressed now, Gin'. 'Don't think about him or it'll just open up the wound in your heart again, and you cried enough last night.'

Simple, basic commands. Some admittedly easier to follow than others.

It should surprise me how I'm even capable of anything bar curling into a ball and crying at this point but it doesn't. I feel nothing. I'm just... empty. I guess I must have more resilience that I thought I did.

But then, I have you to thank for that, don't I?

When I'm done, I look at myself in the mirror. There are bags under my eyes. I'm paler than usual, though not by much. I doubt anyone but you – the old you – would notice.

I don't even have the energy to smile. Though I know I'll have to find some. Your arrancars can smell weakness from ten miles away, and I can't afford to give them an opening. I don't want to be easy prey, but more than that, I don't know if this new you even cares enough about me to come to my rescue if I land myself in trouble like last time. If you were _**you **_and not this... _impostor... _maybe I could afford to mope for a few days. But you're not you anymore and I'm certain of nothing.

So I have to keep it together. Or at least _**look**_ like I have it together. Otherwise I'll be heartbroken_** and **_dead. Though right now I probably wouldn't mind falling under the latter category, if only to null the pain of being without you.

Realistically though, I know that's not an option. So I stare at my tired reflection in the mirror and force my facial muscles into something that resembles a smile. It's bullshit. It's fake. But it'll have to do.

Then I take a deep breath, brace myself for the day ahead, and leave my room.

. . .

It's almost funny how directionless I feel, walking through our – your – white palace. Even though I know where I'm headed. There's probably a word for that, but I don't know what it is. You'd probably know, but I'm too afraid to ask. Too scared of what I might find out.

I dismiss the thought and carry on through the grand, white corridors of Las Noches. I remember reading somewhere in some human cultures white is the colour of mourning, and I can't help but feel, with no small amount of bitterness, how appropriate that is.

Of course, I haven't _really _lost you; you're still here. Still alive. Still breathing. But I've lost the part of you that matters the most, and I'm not sure I'll ever get that back.

That one tenth of you that made you who you were is gone, and while I have the remaining nine I may as well have your empty shell for all the good it does me.

Because nine tenths, I've learned, just isn't enough of a person to have.

My next breath catches at that thought and I have to force myself to breathe normally. A hard enough task, but not impossible. I even manage not to break stride as I walk. Part of me knows the old you would be impressed by that, but I push that thought away too, before it has a chance to break me.

. . .

I make my way through to the kitchen in search of food and a drink. You usually –_ used to – _make me a cup of tea every morning and leave it for me. Kept nice and hot with a kidou spell; one of your own invention. But that was _then_ and this is _now. _And in this _now_ I have to make my own tea.

I boil the kettle, go hunting for a mug. I find one and place it on the counter. I dig through the drawers for the tea diffuser, put in the tea leaves and wait. Lady Grey. My favourite. Letting the tea diffuse. While it does, I grab milk from the fridge and pour some in. I move the tea diffuser around and wait until the tea turns that perfect shade of brown. I take the tea out, bin the soggy leaves, and then I add the sugar and stir well.

I drink it, sipping to check the taste.

It's bitter.

More than that, there's something not _right_ about the taste. Which is ridiculous. I've been watching you make me this tea for almost a century. I did everything exactly the same. Just how you taught me.

I frown, adding more sugar and conducting another taste test. But still it doesn't taste right. I scowl at the offending tea and pour it down the sink. And I try again.

After three more attempts and three more failures and wasted mugs of tea, I give up and switch to coffee. It's bitter and I hate it, but it's still less bitter than the tea. And at least the coffee tastes how it's supposed to and not all... wrong.

I swallow the sharp drink and sigh. Guess I'm a coffee man now.

I'm about to turn and leave, coffee in hand, but the sound of your footsteps stall me. I'm still impressed you can walk with such easy confidence, like nothing bothers you. _Whereas me..._

"Gin," you call to me, smiling. I don't answer.

_Inwardly I'm such a wasteland hastily wallpapered over so you can't see the cracks._

"Good morning," you add, still smiling. Not the smile you save just for me though. You're using your 'Captain Aizen' smile, and it's politeness, rather than affection, that makes me respond.

"Mornin'." I force myself to smile a little, but my voice sounds hollow even to _my_ ears. Hopefully I can get away with the pretext of tiredness. It is, after all, still early. Well for me it is, though you probably don't remember that either.

"You look tired," you say, smile soft, trying to get the warmth of it to reach your eyes. I just nod.

"Hence the coffee," I say, lifting up my mug. I don't bring up the tea. I can't.

"Kettle's just boiled if ya want some."

You smile at me again. "Maybe I will. Perhaps we could sit and drink together."

I try to grin, but I can't tell how successful I am. If I've failed you don't mention it. You always did have a habit of glazing over all of my ineptitude at the game to let me save face. I wonder if that's what you're doing now.

"You askin' me out on a date?" I ask, attempting to be cheeky. Most likely failing. It's a little scary how easily we slip back into our old roles. Well, _almost_ into our old roles. We are only nine tenths of the way there, of course. But this may be a good chance to assess the situation, and see how much of you was lost. And maybe a good chance to work out a plan to get you back, too.

"I might be," you smirk, and for an instant you seem like yourself again – but the moment passes quickly, and then I'm just left with the cheap imitation again. But a little spark of hope, too.

"Come," you beckon me over, "We'll sit on the balcony."

I nod and let you lead me. And while I don't let you see it, my smile is wide and authentic.

. . .

You take me to one of the quieter balconies "So we don't be disturbed," you say. I nod, quietly agreeing, and let my gaze wander out over the vast, barren, moonlit desert stretched out endlessly before us as I carry my coffee outside. It's still a little odd to me how we can be sitting in sunshine but look out at the moon. I guess you installed a little window to reality when you redesigned this place. But one look at the moonlit desert and I've never felt so cold and alone in my _life _than I feel right now looking out at that barren wasteland. I have to sit down. It reminds me too much of myself.

"Like the view?" I hear you behind me, and it takes everything I have to not shake my head.

"I guess," I say instead with a shrug. "I'm a little surprised though, considerin' ya told me this's a place of nightmares."

_Nightmares and monsters._

You step beside me and give an amused little smile. "Maybe it is," you concede, pulling up the other chair to sit at the table with me. "It certainly feels like it sometimes," you add, somewhat sheepish. And then you smile, softer, almost like how you used to smile at me, and I watch your hand slide across the table to squeeze mine.

"But I'm glad you're here to make things bearable," you finish. And my breath _really_ tries to catch in my throat this time. Because while it's what I want to hear, the words don't sound right. Just like how the tea I made didn't taste right. And everything about this feels wrong.

You're trying. I know you are. Maybe somewhere very deep down you remember we've had this very same conversation. But right now you're just a faint echo of the man I love.

And what is life even worth, when the most important part of you's gone?

What is _my _life even worth?

And yet, I can't help but hope.

I force myself to mirror your soft smile, and hope you believe it.

"You know, you said something like that before," I say, testing the waters. How much _**do**_ you remember, if anything.

How much do you remember?

"Yes, I remember," you say, still smiling. And for a moment, if a very brief one, I think see a little flicker of recollection in your eyes. But I might be imagining it.

"That was when we first got here, right?" you say.

It's hard to keep the smile on my face; you're only partly right.

The actual scene I'm thinking of is us sitting in that dark room, the dead bodies of the Central forty six just outside. There's just enough light from the little electric lantern to see by, but it was your presence I felt more than I saw.

You were sitting so close to me, your smile warm but tired, and I knew you were fighting sleep if only to keep the nightmares away and enjoy my company a little longer. I'd promised to wake you up if you had bad dreams, so it was fine if you fell asleep on me – and you relaxed. Noticeably so. You were finally letting your guard down and it was... so nice. So nice after so l_ong..._

_"You should sleep," I told you. "Ya don't have to fight it fer me. S'okay. You can sleep."_

_"I don't want to... I have..." your voice caught, and you swallowed. I waited. Knowing patience always yielded the greatest rewards with you. "The nightmares'll come."_

"_This seems like a place of nightmares," I said._

"_It is," you said, agreeing. Smile soft but tired and you took my hand and gently squeezed it as if reminding yourself I was real. I squeezed back. "But I'm glad you're here to make things bearable."_

_I smiled, agreeing. "Still, you should sleep." I said, gently admomishing you. "I promise I'll wake you up if you have bad dreams."_

"_Thanks." you answered. Your smile that much warmer. You were my Helios again. And despite the dank air and the grimness of the place, I couldn't help but smile back._

How forced and _wrong_ your smile feels now, compared to that.

My gaze must have shifted when I wasn't paying attention, because I'm not looking at our hands, but into your eyes. And suddenly I'm not sure what to feel anymore because you're not my Helios. But I force myself to smile because I know that to you – this you – it's a game and we haven't stopped playing.

Even though the ice I'm standing on is cracking under my feet.

"Yeah," I say quietly, "That's right." Because I can't bring myself to tell you you're wrong without crying. Knowing how much you hate weakness.

It seems to please you, because you nod and your expression grows more appreciative.

I don't really remember much of what happened next. I know we must have talked, though about what I'm not sure. My mind was elsewhere. If the real you's still in there, it's buried much deeper than I thought. And I realise, just how much harder it'll be to get you back. It might even be impossible.

And yet...

My gaze drifts out into the desert, towards those crystal quartz trees, and I can't help but hope. Though you seem to be doing your best to crush that hope.

Maybe you really _**are **_lost to me...

You catch my attention again, and I'm dragged back to reality. To you. This you. The wrong you.

"What were you looking at?" you ask, curious, but not displeased.

I try not to swallow. _I looked out onto the horizon and saw a future without you. _I want to say. _It was breathtakingly lonely._

But instead, I just sigh and shake my head. "It's nothing. Probably just a gillian moving about." I say dismissively and take another sip of my bitter coffee that tastes like swill and force myself to converse. Dying a little on the inside.

Because I know it's not 'nothing'. It's my whole life.

It's _**our**_ whole life.

And you don't remember any of it.

I know you're here. I know you're alive. I know I have you sitting right next to me. Talking to me. Holding my hand.

But I only have nine tenths of you, and it is not enough, because you don't remember me.


End file.
